It's Time to Shut Up Now
by portionss-forfoxes
Summary: At probably the least appropriate moment imaginable—or the most appropriate, depending on how one looks at it—Amy wants an unabridged account of the Doctor's sexual repertoire.


**Title: **"It's Time to Shut Up Now"  
><strong>Author: <strong>Me, brokenheartedshipper/Dori  
><strong>Characters, Pairings: <strong>Amy, Eleven, Eleven/Amy; mentions of Rose and Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose; mentions of Martha and Ten/Martha sexiness; regretful one-sided Eleven/Martha; again, mainly an Eleven/Amy fluff fest  
><strong>Summary: <strong>At probably the least appropriate moment imaginable—or the most appropriate, depending on how one looks at it—Amy wants an unabridged account of the Doctor's sexual repertoire  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>My first dabble in anything slightly smutty, though I should warn you there is absolutely NO graphic sex and NO porn-y stuff…sorry, guys.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M, JUST TO BE SAFE (see above)  
><strong>Notes: <strong>AU (which means Rory is, um, absent, but his existence is still implied); also, I would really, really like to point out that I DO NOT ACTUALLY THINK THE DOCTOR WAS THIS SEXUAL WITH ANY OF HIS COMPANIONS, I was just playing around with ideas and AU-ness.

*/*

"Wait," Amy said at the exact wrong moment.

"Amy," the Doctor replied through gritted teeth, his arms shaking slightly as he tried to maintain his plank position, "can it wait?"

"I'm sorry, but I just have to ask, is this, like, a regular thing with your...what do you call us—companions? Should I have been expecting this all along?"

The Doctor winced and turned his head toward the ceiling, which was significantly more difficult considering his position.

"No," he responded, the two-letter word falling somewhere between a grunt and a squeak. "…At least, I don't think so."

"Well, could you just, I don't know, give me a brief history? Not of every single companion you've ever had, but just, oh, say…the last three."

"Right now?" the Doctor asked breathily, a bead of sweat falling from off of his left eyebrow into Amy's splayed-out hair.

"Well, you know," said Amy politely, "If you don't mind."

"This is quite a request you're making, considering you're the one who got me all…tangled up in this mess." He lifted a hand, waving it to indicate 'this mess.'

"Oi! I did nothing of the sort! I didn't _force_ you to do _anything_, now _did_ I?"

"No, but you came about as close as you could possibly get!" the Doctor reprimanded. "Red satin bowtie," he grumbled. "Who the hell owns a red satin bowtie?"

"I'm waiting," Amy told him expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"…Amy, we are currently about half an inch away from making physical contact," the Doctor observed, his skinny arms wobbling a bit, "in ... extremely intimate regions, and you suddenly want to hear an unabridged account of my sexual repertoire?"

Amy feigned thinking, one hand going to scratch her chin as she made a theatric "thoughtful" face. "Let's see, um, _yes_," she said, pinching his elbow so at last he toppled beside her with an 'Ouch!' "But I didn't say your _entire_ sexual history," she told him. "Just in the last three bodies you've had."

"But just a minute ago you said 'last three companions!'"

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. And besides, if you didn't have anything to be ashamed of, you wouldn't be so worried, _buddy boy_."

The Doctor sighed, lacing his fingers together to rest them atop his stomach. Amy turned her head sideways on the pillow to watch him. She took a certain pride in the fact that his brown hair, which he'd taken to slicking back sophisticatedly of late, was now (due to her very own wandering fingers) returned to its former tousled state, falling over his forehead and sticking up erratically in the back. His hair made him look carefree, youthful. Amy liked it better that way. It reminded her of simpler days. She felt a sudden, unexpected itch, knowing that it had been _her_ anxious, lusty fingers that had only moments ago ruined his neatly parted hair.

"All right," he relented. "Well, first off, two bodies ago…there was Rose. I assure you, I had no intention of engaging in any sort of...intrigue with her. I have no intention of that with _any_ of my companions. It just sort of..." He waved his hands about spasmodically in the air to illustrate. "...happens," he finished. "And it's never my idea, either. I'm always _tricked_ into it. As you've so aptly demonstrated." He turned his head sideways so as to give her A Look.

"It's not my fault," Amy insisted.

"You're quite right—the blame belongs entirely to the red satin bowtie." The Doctor nodded solemnly, drumming his fingers against his stomach.

"Oh, come on," Amy said, suddenly flirty again. "It wasn't _all_ the bowtie." She leaned over him, one small hand on his collarbone, her chest on his chest. "It had a _little _bit to do with the fact that it's me. Your mad, impossible Amy Pond." She grinned devilishly and leaned her face down tantalizingly close, snapping away before he could kiss her. She resumed her previous position beside him, chastely seated shoulder-to-shoulder. She gave the ceiling a satisfied smirk.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed gravely, "it did have something to do with that. I never could deny you, Amy Pond."

"Oh, your reasons aren't quite as selfless as _that_, mister," Amy observed, emphasizing her point by tracing her finger down the length of his side once so he shivered involuntarily.

"Yes, well, anyway..." The Doctor cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch at his ear nervously. "Erm, what was I saying?"

"Your companions. We trick you. How did Rose do it? I might need some ideas for later."

The Doctor at first gave her another Look, then realized the weight of her sentence and looked positively terrified.

"Oh, I'm only kidding," Amy laughed, slapping his arm. She grinned. She wasn't.

The Doctor coughed a bit un-subtly, then went on, "Well, uh, Rose and I...in the ninth body, she...well, she wanted to dance with me, see, and so when we were alone in the Tardis one night she sort of...put on this dress..." The Doctor stared off into another time, lost in a memory, and Amy felt a surge of jealousy. She wanted to leap on top of him, kiss him forcefully, sink onto him and remind him that she was there, right beside him, naked. Then she remembered that it had been _her_ who'd halted the proceedings for this very purpose, and she was humbled.

Still, she couldn't help a bit of sarcasm. "Yeah? And what was so very special about this dress?"

"It was...blue," the Doctor told her reverently, lost in a reverie. "So very, very blue." He smiled sadly. "And we danced. And it was lovely. And it wasn't very, oh, _sensual _at all, but I guess one thing let to another."

Amy nodded briskly. "All right then," she said in a business-like tone, storing this information away. "And how many times did you and Rose have sexual intercourse?"

The Doctor blushed fiercely, his reminiscence broken, and he turned to Amy sheepishly. "You don't have to put it like _that_," he begged.

"How else should I put it?" Amy asked him with a fond laugh. "If you want, I have plenty of other synonyms, but they aren't quite so cultured."

The Doctor blushed. "No," he decided. "No thank you." He ran his fingers over his front, though there was no fabric to smooth over. "And to answer your question, I don't know. Ten, maybe?"

"And you were with Rose in two different bodies, yeah?" Amy clarified. Dwelling on that for a moment, she shook her head. "I don't know how she did it. That'd be so strange. I mean, to know you as one man and see you change into a completely different one. Of course you're the same core person, but from what you've told me your personality and your quirks really do change. And I just...to me, this is you. You're my Doctor, and you wear a scratchy tweed jacket and you're deluded in thinking bow-ties are cool—"

"They are cool. Bow-ties are cool."

"—and you spin around all the time, clumsily, and you blush at the mention of anything at all naughty, even when I say 'that time of the month'—" The Doctor blushed. "—and you bumble about and you have this way of speaking where you kind of repeat yourself by saying the same thing three different ways, and when you get defensive you straighten your bow-tie and stick your neck out like a turtle, like a silly little Doctor turtle—" Amy found herself laughing "—and you just—you _feel _everything so deeply, it's like...it's like you don't just experience your own pain, which is deep enough already, but other people's too, and when you're feeling it you get this look on your face, this worried, twisted, broken, so, so broken face—" Amy was frowning now. She didn't like it when he made that face, not at all. "—and it just makes me want to...to...to seize you in my arms and hold onto you really, really tightly and kiss your forehead and your eyelids and your lips and tell you it's all going to be all right, which doesn't even make any sense because you're the Doctor, you solve everything, you're the one who does the comforting and the protecting, but it's like, I can't help it, I just want to..." Amy trailed off, realizing that the Doctor was staring at her intently. She was suddenly afraid that he could see everything that she'd allowed him inside her mind and let him see every private thought she'd ever had about him. She was afraid he could see how much she loved him. But she supposed she shouldn't worry that she'd let him into her soul, because really, she realized, he could see everything anyways.

Now it was Amy's turn to blush. It wasn't something she did often.

"So," she said quickly, anxious to change the subject, "who's next, then? In your tenth body?"

The Doctor stared at her a moment, eyes moving across hers to see if she was holding anything back. Then, "Martha," the Doctor said, and he suddenly appeared very, very troubled. "Martha Jones."

"Well?" Amy prompted, eyebrows raised. "Did you fuck her?"

The Doctor was appalled. "Amy!" he said, shooting upwards. "I have never in my whole entire existence 'fucked' anyone, especially not a companion! Companions are...they're _brilliant_! They're _beautiful_! You don't 'fuck' a companion; if you do anything at all, you make love. So no, Amy, I did not 'fuck' Martha Jones." He leaned back against the headboard grumpily, arms crossed.

Amy had to wonder why he was so defensive. "Okay, okay!" she said, hands in the air, 'surrendering.' "Sorry. So did you 'make love' to Martha?"

The Doctor frowned, then winced. He closed his eyes, lips pursed, and Amy could almost feel his inward battle.

"No," he whispered. "I didn't."

"All right then, moving on. Your next companion was—"

"Amy," the Doctor interrupted, and she looked at him quizzically. His eyes were still closed, and though the word was simple, the only word she could use to describe him at that moment was…sad. Sadder than she'd ever seen him before, because it was mixed with something more, a darker force that tainted his sadness to make it something twisted and excruciating: regret. "Amy, I can't lie to you. Martha and I weren't...we weren't… completely chaste with one another."

Amy's face was blank. After the fervent speech he'd just given, she was understandably confused. "But I thought you said you two didn't make love."

"We didn't," the Doctor replied. "Well, she tried, but I couldn't...I didn't..."

"Doctor," Amy whispered urgently, lifting her body upwards to try to meet his wavering eyes. "Were you two...'friends with benefits?'"

The Doctor grimaced, but seeing as this had been exactly what they were, he could do nothing but nod a tiny bit.

Amy looked surprised. She sat back on her haunches, trying to make sense of her feelings. "Well, Doctor," she said, "I have to say I've got some conflicting emotions at the moment. I mean, first off, kudos to you," she congratulated without a hint of irony. "I never would've pegged you for it. I mean, that's a hard thing to pull off—I tried it once, didn't work out—" Amy grimaced at the thought of her friend Jeff "—and if I had to pick one person in the world who I thought _wouldn't_ be able to do it, it would be none other than you, sir. So bravo. You've gained new respect, my friend," and she gave him a small, not at all sarcastic round of applause, which the Doctor highly resented. Of course Amy would be impressed by sexual carelessness. "But secondly, I mean...am I going to become that? Your friend with benefits?"

"Amy," the Doctor told her fervently. He seized the sides of her head with his palms and stared deep into her eyes, and it was funny, Amy thought, that she'd read that line, that 'deep into her eyes' line in countless romance novels, and it had never meant anything at all to her before now. "No. That is _not _you. It will _never_ be you. It should never have been Martha, either. I was...selfish," he reflected. "I thought I deserved a spot of easy, thoughtless fun after everything I'd been through, but that spot of fun came at a higher cost to Martha than I was willing to realize."

Amy fell back, away from his hands, and at first the Doctor was worried that she would never see him the same. Then he saw that she was only thinking. She didn't like to be touched while she was thinking.

"Martha left you, right?" Amy verified. "Well, first off, good for her, and second off, did you ever do it again with Martha? After she left, I mean? Did you ever do it…right?"

The Doctor made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and he leaned back against the headboard beside her, their positions—arms and ankles crossed, heads tilted slightly to the right in deep thought—identical. "Yes," he told Amy after a long silence. "It was different. She was...engaged." Amy shot the Doctor a nervous sideways glance, which he met and mirrored. Quickly they both turned away.

"_She _was different," the Doctor went on hurriedly. "She'd reached a point where she wouldn't tolerate my selfishness anymore. She wanted to feel...special, which she was. She truly was. Very, very special. So that time, that last time, I let her know it. I think it took losing her to see it."

Amy thought for a moment. The Doctor watched her do it, her brows furrowed, forehead creasing, lips pouting the smallest bit. She concentrated so hard whenever she was thinking. It was something only the Doctor could find sexy.

"I would've liked her," Amy concluded unexpectedly, and as soon as the words came out of her mouth the Doctor realized how true they were.

"Yes," he conceded, sounding a bit surprised himself. "Yes, you really would've."

Amy was getting a bit…_uppity_ now. She was observing the Doctor as he spoke and moved; there was a certain clumsy fluidity to his movements, if such a thing was possible. A lurching grace. The way his long fingers tugged and tickled spastically at the air when he was explaining something. The slight asymmetry of his jaw. The jerky, yet flowing motions of his arms. Amy was glad she'd asked her question, sure, but as the Doctor got farther and farther away from his former entrancement, Amy grew more and more entranced by him. She wanted to catch his arms in the air as they were jerking about, grasp them behind him and kiss him and bite his bottom lip. She had a feeling those arms would want to wander. She both wanted to hold them down and let them.

"So," she said. "Next was Donna, yeah? And you were just friends."

"Yes!" the Doctor agreed, and he seemed immensely relieved and elated at the fact that he had never engaged in any questionable activity with Donna. "Just the best of friends," he reflected with a wide, triumphant grin. He was exceedingly proud of himself.

"All right then," Amy affirmed briskly, shifting her body sideways to press against his. "That's all I needed to know. Where were we, then?"

The Doctor looked absolutely flabbergasted. "But Amy, you forget I traveled alone a while! Met some wonderful people! Did some wonderful things! There was a girl named Christina! She and I—"

"Mm, Christina, yes, fascinating," Amy hummed, her lips connecting with his shoulder, his neck, his jaw.

"We never actually 'did the deed,' but there was some hanky-panky. Plenty of hanky-panky, oh yes," the Doctor chirped, hands flying in the air sporadically to emphasize this fact. By accident one of them connected with Amy's back, right between her shoulder-blades, and that felt just fine, quite soft really, very smooth, too, so he allowed it to stay there as she kissed beneath his ear, along his cheek.

"Hanky-panky's good," Amy conceded. "It's very good. If you're feeling impatient, you know, we can just skip to where we were before."

"Hm? Oh, I don't think—" Amy's lips connected with the corner of his, just barely, and his mouth snapped shut. A small involuntary squeak-sigh hybrid escaped from between his lips, and he looked mortified with himself.

"Doctor," she said with a mischievous smile, "it's time to shut up now."

* * *

><p>THE END<p>

**Sorry for the hastiness of this. It was just a bit of fun, nothing very well-written. Thanks for reading! Please don't favorite without reviewing.**


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